Of Broomsticks and Ireland
by Fire The Canon
Summary: Helga has been hiding out in the forest for years, and then she hears talk of something called Quidditch.


_**Written for the 335 Pairing Bonanza (HelgaMoran)**_

 _ **Written for the Weekly Musical/Show Tunes Prompt Competition (Willy Wonka - Pure Imagination - write about someone being awestruck by something)**_

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 **Of Broomsticks and Ireland**

What was this _Quidditch_ that they spoke of? Since when did the magical folk of this world ride on broomsticks for sport? She remembered it being a form of transport not so long ago, but, Merlin, had the world changed since she had been alive.

She watched from the tree, her ghostly figure keeping low as families of witches and wizards arrived and made their way to a large stadium and camping area. The noise of so many people had distracted her from her wanderings in the nearby forest (where she had been living for the past one thousand years or so) and she had been unable to resist the temptation to see what was happening.

"Ireland… Bulgaria… Quidditch." Those were the main words she had managed to overhear from where she sat. It made her curious, and after a little bit of investigation she now knew that it was a game played on broomsticks and that the wizarding world went crazy for it.

The sun in the sky hid Helga rather well, so when the last family walked by her tree for the meantime, she floated closer to the camping ground and stadium. It was rather large, that was for sure. Peering into the stadium, she noticed that there were three hoops at each end. A group of ten people dressed in green were flying around and passing an odd shaped ball between them. Some looked dressed for a game, while others were barking instructions.

Helga moved even closer to the people, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Moran! We don't need any nonsense today!" one man barked at another. "I don't care if Levski calls your mother fat, you have no need to hold that club. Your job is to get that ruddy Quaffle through the hoop. Understand?"

The man was face to face with the younger one, and he appeared furious. He spoke as if what he had just said had occurred before.

Moran's eyes glowered at the mention of this Levski, but he nodded in agreeance. Obviously the pair weren't fond of each other.

"And you!" The older man now rounded on another and continued to speak in the same tone as he had to Moran.

Helga zoned out of what was being said and continued to watch as Moran flew with ease to one end of the pitch and put a ball through the centre hoop. Two others cheered him on for his action.

 _Hmm,_ Helga thought, _what an odd game this is._ Her only memory of flying on a broomstick was when she needed to get quickly to the Hogsmeade village as a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The angry man barked some more instructions at the others, telling them they needed to work harder if they expected to beat the Bulgarian team in just a few hours. Helga found the conversations fascinating – it was as if they were speaking a whole new language entirely. Quidditch… Chaser… Beater… Seeker…. The man talked a lot about a Seeker. She assumed that was a position on the team in this odd sport.

Soon, the team dispatched, but Helga still had her eye on that young man named Moran. He had rather impressed her, she would admit. She hoped to catch another glimpse of him before he disappeared completely.

She stayed well above them, following as Moran went into a tunnel. Making sure nobody else was around to see, she followed, keeping far behind, but also keeping him in sight so she knew where he was going.

And then to her horror, he suddenly was naked. She had entered a room a little after him, but she had not expected him to be standing there with no clothes on.

Helga gasped, and Moran's head perked up.

"Who's there?" he called, suspicion in his voice.

Helga hid behind some kind of stand, her ghostly cheeks blushing red with embarrassment. A naked man! Oh dear, the horror of it all. She wished to leave straight away, but something compelled her to stay. She refused to look as he used a towel to pat himself down, but she waited until he was fully clothed once more before taking another peak.

Moran was humming to himself as he combed his hair. He had a rough voice, but it was like music to Helga's ears. He was rather a handsome man, too. Pretty, perhaps. And she didn't know much about that Quidditch, but she considered him to be a good player.

"Bloody Bulgarians," Moran suddenly murmured to himself. "Think they're better just because they have Krum. I'll show 'em. Just because they've got him, doesn't mean they'll win." He looked at himself in the mirror, as if sizing himself up.

"You know talking to yourself is the first sign of madness." Another person was with Moran now; a bigger, burlier player.

Moran looked at his companion. "Ye know I'm mad, Quigely," he answered nonchalantly.

Quigley smirked. "We've got 'em, Moran. You know we have."

"I just couldn't bear the look on her face if we lose."

Quigely clapped him on the back. "She'll love you no matter what," he said considerately. "But just imagine her cute little face lighting up when she sees her daddy out there, and her little hands clapping together with joy."

Helga listened intently. Did Moran have a daughter? Goodness, what a shock that was. He seemed far too old to have a small child. He had to be at least thirty years.

Moran smiled, probably picturing his daughter. "I just want to be able to take the cup home to her, ye know? Give her something to be proud of. Her mother barely allows her to see me best of times."

"Well, that's what you get for picking up a Muggle in a dodgy bar, knocking her up and then telling her you're a wizard as she gives birth to your child," Quigely said. "And then imagine the shock that the little baby she's holding in her arms could turn out to be just like the man who lied to her."

Moran shrugged. "I just want to see her more, is all."

"Well, she'll be here today," Quigely assured him. "And you can make her proud. And, if she's not one of us, well you'll soon find out. Apparently they have anti-Muggle charms in place for the stadium."

Moran swallowed. "I'd lose her for good, then."

Quigely smiled. "Nah, I don't think so." He clapped Moran on the back again, and then turning serious, he said, "Listen, Connor, Niamh is your little girl whether her mother wants it or not. She can't stop you from seeing her, and if she does turn out to be a witch – she has the charm and skill to be one – then she's going to need you."

Helga had been so engrossed in the conversation that she hadn't realised she'd come out from behind the stand. It was Quigely – who had been facing her way – that saw her first. He gave a start, and Moran whipped around.

"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.

"I watched you play," Helga said in response, looking at Moran. "I think you have talent. You are sure to win."

Moran frowned. "Are you a Bulgarian spy?" he asked.

"Do I sound like one?" Helga retorted.

"Then why are you here?"

"I have been alone for many years in that forest down there. The sound of people drew me out, and I have been curious ever since."

"About us?"

"About Quidditch," Helga answered. "It did not exist when I was alive."

Moran and Quigely both seemed surprised by that. "And how long ago did you live?" Moran asked.

"Many, many years, I believe," Helga told him. "I am not sure how many. One loses track of time when they pass."

"So you're not a Bulgarian spy?" Quigely said.

"No, nor am I anybody, really. I owned a school once."

"Hogwarts?" the two men asked in unison.

Helga's eyes brightened. "You have heard of it?"

"It's only the most renowned school in all of the wizarding world," Moran stated. "You're an old professor?"

Helga smiled. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Moran laughed. "What an odd day this is."

"Oh, and I have heard of your daughter," Helga continued. "I wish you the best. I understand the difficulty of fathering a child to a Muggle. They simply do not understand all of the time."

Moran nodded. "No, they don't."

Helga nodded. "I suppose I should be going, but do you mind if I come to watch later today. After all, I am curious as to how this Quidditch is played."

Moran looked to Quigely, who shrugged.

"How can we stop a ghost?"

Helga smiled. "I thank you. Also, Mr Moran, I saw you at practice today, and I must say you are a talented gentleman. Although, I must remind you that in the future, undressing is strictly for when you are alone."

Moran turned rather red and Quigely snorted with laughter.

"My apologies, Madam," he said.

Helga nodded, accepting his apology. "Very well, I shall see you later today."

Moran nodded. "Er, yes."

Helga floated back down the corridor she had come and out onto the green grass, where the Quidditch would be played. She found a spot high above in the stadium and waited.

When Moran flew out on a broomstick later, it definitely was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

This Quidditch was fascinating.

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 _ **Now all I want to write about is Moran and his daughter. I might do that one day. Please leave a review if you read this. Would be much appreciated!  
**_


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